


Rejuvenation

by TK_DuVeraun



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: M/M, Minor/Background Male Surana/Zevran, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-04 01:12:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14581668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TK_DuVeraun/pseuds/TK_DuVeraun
Summary: Leandaros Suranafinally finds something to love about Antiva other than his assassin.





	Rejuvenation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fleshwerks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fleshwerks/gifts).



> For [@fleshwerks](http://fleshwerks.tumblr.com/). Thanks for your support. [Check out Mari’s amazing content](http://fleshwerks.tumblr.com/tagged/my%20art)!

If not for the stench of rotting fish, Antiva city would be overwhelmed with the rank smell from the tanneries. The seabreeze was little help. Even if the tanneries all shut down, rotting fish was the primary fertilizer for the region. It left a sour, fetid taste in the magic.

Zevran had laughed when Lea told him.

“The plants here are no different than in Ferelden. Except perhaps not tainted with dog.”

Mabari were a nice buffer against his entropy aura. Large, clever animals that had boundless energy to give in order to spare their masters. Wonderful animals with wills so strong they could protect without even knowing they were doing it. Honestly, Lea preferred their energy. They didn’t carry the same malaise that came when people were upset or unhappy. And people were always unhappy.

Though, in Antiva the smell probably wasn’t helping with that.

Their manor was still in the richest part of the city, but the section reserved for land-rich, bankrupt aristocracy. _Formerly land-rich, that is_ , Lea thought as he took his first steps onto _his_ property.

“It will take at least a year for the herbs you want to grow in, my warden,” Zevran said. He wrinkled his nose. “Though why you don’t want home to smell like home, I do not understand.”

“They have medicinal purposes. It will help to keep up the ruse for your rebels.” Lea tapped the already-cracked tiles with the butt of his staff as they walked. It was unnecessarily dramatic. There was no one around to see and be impressed, but as much as making Warden Loghain the Hero of the Ferelden was the right decision, Lea did sometimes miss the power being a hero of the Fifth Blight gave him.

“And they will look pretty, no? Not as much as you, of course, but nice enough to suit.” Zevran held out his arms as they walked down the long hallways, as if hugging it.

The once-white plaster walls were yellowed and cracked from age and neglect, with some few paintings of old, grumpy Antivans interspersed with blank spaces of fresh-looking plaster where the paintings had been removed. Zevran ran his skilled fingers along every frame they came across. “I knew the seller was not a clever man, but he did not even think to sell these frames. Ah, well, we will correct his mistake, no?”

“Are they worth so much?”

“Oh yes, Lea. The paintings are not worth the canvas, hideous things, but we will pay for the fresh plaster with the frames in this hallway alone.”

Lea made a considering noise in his throat. As they continued their walkthrough, he paid more attention to the frames, though he couldn’t imagine why little gilded bits of wood would be so much more valuable than the countless hours that went into the paintings. Not that looking at the faces of unknown ancestors had any appeal to him, either. Large scale paintings of plant diagrams with their magical and medicinal properties would be worth his coin and putting on the walls.

Otherwise he’d rather have windows.

Having a permanent home would be… Interesting. After so long in Kinloch Hold, owning _anything_ was still novel. He could even purchase himself luxuries like down pillows and thick, fluffy duvets. Not that he’d _need_ them in Antiva’s heat, but the _ability_ to have such things was far more important than actually possessing them.

* * *

Leandaros Surana did not regret making fun of his lover’s delicate, Antivan constitution throughout his many sniffles in Ferelden, but Zevran was doing his best to change that. It was, supposedly, the ‘rainy season’ in Antiva, but with the shallow canals and their dead fish rotting all day in the sun and not a drop of water to be seen from the sky, Lea found the name highly questionable. He surely sweat out half of his body weight in the last week alone. The heat sapped far more energy from Lea than he could replenish without making the exact nature of his magic apparent to his new neighbors. They were already insufferable simply because he was an elf.

The one spot of relief, not that Lea would admit it, Zevran was already far too smug, was the thin, silk robe he’d received as a housewarming gift when his lover was feeling particularly cheeky. The flimsy, silk thing wasn’t worth the time it took to weave in Ferelden’s chill, but it was also a necessity in the heat.

Lea was spread out on his bed like a starfish, those strange sea creatures than stank to the Void and back that Zevran found inexplicably charming. It was halfway between noon and dusk and his skin was chapped from too many applications of Frost spells to cool himself down. Another thing he would never mention. A week into the Void-begotten heat, Zevran had insisted Lea add more salt to his diet to relieve the dehydration and he’d scoffed.

After a second week of suffering, Lea had purchased three local medical texts that all agreed with his lover. He was too proud to admit to this fault, but also too stubborn to consume salt when Zevran was not there to see it. (Lea would never admit, even in the privacy of his mind, that Zevran would somehow know about the snacks, no matter how secretive he was.)

A booming crash sounded in the distance and part of Lea hoped it was heralding some kind of quick death to spare him from the heat. So miserable was he from the heat, Lea didn’t recognize the crash as _thunder_ until fat raindrops slammed into the slick, new roof tiles on his home.

Lea laid frozen and silent for a solid minute of rhythmic raindrops before launching himself out of his bed with every ounce of physical and magical energy he had. His bare feet slapped against the grey, slate floor tiles as Lea sprinted to the inner courtyard. The rain was so heavy that the large drops splattered water a meter into hallway leading to the courtyard.

With a loud, delighted laugh Lea couldn’t even imagine having years ago in Kinloch Hold, he spread out his arms and tilted his head back, letting the heavy drops splatter against him. His robe was soaked and plastered against his body almost instantly, but he didn’t care. The freezing, piercing, Ferelden rain had called to Lea’s heart, but _this_ was infinitely better. It was like being held. Like the warm comfort he felt in his heart at a loving gesture from Zevran, except all over his skin. It was glorious.

“Is this for a new ritual?” Zevran asked.

Lea opened his eyes and reluctantly turned his face away from the clouds. Zevran was huddled under a thin oilskin cloak and balancing on a short stack of garden bricks to keep his boots out of the glorified puddle their courtyard had become. While Lea watched, Zevran wrinkled his nose and shook off his boots and arms, trying to remove any stray droplets.

“This is magic all of its own,” Lea said.

“It is a season. And an unpleasant one, at that, my warden. Come inside.”

Lea turned his face back to the clouds and let the drops splash across his closed eyelids. “Soon.”

Loud, splashing footsteps sounded as Zevran hopped across the courtyard to get under cover with as little water sloshing against his boots as possible. “Do not complain to me when your skin is shrivelled and chapped!”

“Go plan your coup. I’ll be in eventually.”


End file.
